One Comes Alongside

Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday in the church calendar. The preacher gave a wonderful illustration concerning the concert pianist Paderewski.

A young boy age seven had developed a fascination for the piano and was receiving basic instruction at home from his mother. She had had the talent, but domestic necessities had charted another path. She heard of the concert and believed that it was worthy of her sparse savings. The two found themselves excitedly in the fifth row back in the auditorium accompanied by the boy’s aunt and uncle.

At one point right before the program commenced the mother excused herself for a trip to the Ladies’ Room. The boy thereafter made a similar excuse and bolted from his relatives’ supervision.

Down the hall he saw a sign saying “No Admittance to the Public”. He could at least read as far as “No Admit…”. This proved an unbearable temptation, and so in he went.

Back in the Auditorium the lights dimmed, the curtains opened and a spotlight fixed upon the grand piano. Seated there was the seven year-old. He began to play “Twinkle twinkle little star”. He did not see the grand master walk in behind him and place his left hand down at the base notes. A beautiful harmony developed. The crowd murmered their delightful response. The right hand went around the other side for the higher notes. The boy continued as best he could with smile grinning broadly. His Mother was now standing by her seat with hands to her mouth. For another two minutes Performer and Standby continued and then the gathering burst into applause that was not entirely civilized.

We have this opportunity to do small works of beauty as Jesus might do and to expect skill, power, passion and opportunity to come alongside in the Person of the Holy Ghost, and to transform everything.

(Thank you, Pastor Terry Hursh of Hope Lutheran Church, Kitchener.)

 

Despicable Black Spots

Sad time indeed, oh most detested time,

When vice was fealty, and religion crime;

When counsellors were traitors to the State;

A chancellor’s authority was fate;

And Scotland felt the grasp, o’er muir and dale,

Of cruel, beastly, turncoat Lauderdale;

When Grierson stepp’d abroad in human gore,

The peaceful peasant butcher’d at his door;

And cruel Graham, and merciless Dalziell,

In nightly rendezvous enacted hell.

(Taken from Sketches of Scottish Character by Blackwood)

 

He Is Faithful

There is One

Oh can it be?

Who knows every

Part of me

All my deepest hopes

And fears

All my stumbling

Through the years.

All the times

With rescue armed

Saved my thankless neck

From harm.

Wooed me in

The thick of night

Brought me strength

To stand and fight.

While I hunted

Tinsel charms.

Fled from His

Outreaching arms.

Doubted e’er

A Love so great

One that would not

Leave, forsake.

But in silence

Of a time

I have seen

His paths sublime.

Marveled that

This wayward boy

Still to Him

Is constant joy.

(Hebrews 13: 5,6)

 

In the Midst of Conflagration

(From the New York pulpit of J.H. Jowett in 1916 in the midst of the First World War. Such history may teach us today. Some thoughts on Isaiah 2: 2-4)

But now, if swords are to be beaten into ploughshares and spears into pruning-hooks, where must that work begin? It must begin in the individual heart. We are never going to get the swords out of the nations until we have got them out of the hearts. There is a sword in the heart, a cruel sword, a minister of destruction. There is a sword in the German heart, and a sword in the English heart, and a sword in the American heart, and that sword has got to be transformed before the material sword can become a ploughshare of the field! We are all familiar with our own swords;[Pg 247] perhaps I had better say, we are all acquainted with one another’s swords. There is the sword of ill-will. There is the spear of deadly gossip. There is the sword of evil prejudice. There is the spear of petty spite and contempt. Yea, surely there is a sordid armoury in the soul. And this has to be converted into a tool-house of a noble Christian culture before the material armouries can be emptied and the sound of war is heard no more.

And therefore, the great national revolution is to begin in individual conversions, and these are to be the children of a vital and saving religion. The transformation of the world is to begin in the conversion of people like you and me. There is no other way. When our own militaristic armour, the one stored in our own soul, is changed into a garden tool-house,—malice changed into good-will, suspicion into enlightened understanding, cynicism into genial and gracious esteem, and foul hatred into Christ’s own strong and fruitful love, then we are bringing the day nearer of which the herald angels sang, when there shall be “peace on earth and good will among men.”[Pg 248]

All this cannot be done by scholarship. We cannot do it by legislation. We cannot do it by commerce. It is the vital work of salvation, and it only can be done by the Saviour of the world. And He must do it in His own way, and His work must be thorough, profound, fundamental. He must search the very cellarings of our being, seeking out our wickednesses as with a candle, and cleansing and purifying us in the deepest and most secret rooms of the soul. And when we thus come to know our Saviour, we shall most surely come to know our brother, for we shall see him with ourselves in the radiant light of the same eternal grace and love. Then will our swords be beaten into ploughshares and our spears into pruning-hooks and we shall learn war no more!

(Taken from our sidebar link The Whole Armour of God)

 

Madly Loves

“You’re the one He madly loves.”

I saw this image on You Tube. The song was “Beautiful” by MercyMe.

It takes the Holy Spirit to convey a proper impression of this kind of extreme love. Jesus told His disciples that if they had seen Him they had seen in mortal representation the Father (the attributes of the Father).

Time and again in the prophecy of Isaiah we are shown a God Who grieves at the waywardness of Israel, Who applies the rod of correction through hostile foreign nations, but Who will not sustain His anger for too long, in remembrance of His covenant of mercy. In Hosea God identifies with the pain of a man married to a prostitute. In Ezekiel He likens Himself to One who has taken a little girl out of the gutter, cleaned her up, adorned her in finery, watching her become vain, trendy and filled with lust for the things of the world. In Song of Solomon He knocks early at the door of His Beloved and she is too lazy to rise to receive Him at first light.

But there has been a betrothal and the power of this covenant requires Him to look through eyes of faith to the ultimate wedding where one sees nothing but love, fidelity, fruitfulness, purity and partnership. He is in for the long haul.

Jesus presents the same message. He says that His mission is to the lost sheep of Israel. But they doubt His intentions, cast dubious slants upon His message, incarcerate Him, scourge Him and crucify Him. I say Israel but in reality I am referring to all mortal men. Double-minded. Covetous. Idolatrous. Impatient. Self-serving. But He loves them! Prays for their pardon. Dies in their stead. Sees their ultimate glorification (Romans 8: 28-30).

This is One madly in love. Empowered and sustained by the Plan of Heaven. If you have entered into covenant with this God you have become the object of such tenacious affection and keeping care. And you don’t deserve it; neither do I.

http://youtu.be/bmUfJtsaqps

 

 

Trust

“I cannot know why suddenly the storm

Should rage so fiercely round me in its wrath;

But this I know–God watches all my path,

And I can trust.

“I may not draw aside the mystic veil

That hides the unknown future from my sight,

Nor know if for me waits the dark or light;

But I can trust.

“I have no power to look across the tide,

To see while here the land beyond the river;

But this I , know–I shall be God’s forever;

So I can trust.”

Anonymous (Found today in Streams in the Desert compiled by Mrs. Charles Cowman)

 

Touching the Hem

Painting by James Tissot

He couldn’t possibly see me, hear me. Such a crowd here, and all struggling for his attentions.

But I am sick, sick to death of my condition. Humiliating, unstoppable bleeding. Separating me in my embarrassment from the community, the family and the Temple. Doctors have no answer. Past hopes and let-downs plague my memory. Money almost all gone.

Oh, but the news of this Galilean and his willingness to help and heal. Must be of God. I hear that no one is disappointed. All is excitement and hope. Why not my hope too?

I awoke this morning with a strange urging. Today was going to be different. The sunshine seemed a little more poignant. The birds a little more musical. I couldn’t explain it. I hadn’t heard anything yet about our Visitor. But something was up. Then came sounds of commotion down the street. People shouting “Jesus, have mercy”. Yes mercy. I had almost forgotten about that. For me faith and the divine had gradually become like a dark cloud of sternness and obligation. I had felt myself beyond hope. Woman on the outside, looking in wistfully.

But as the crowd passed by I caught a glimpse of His face. No irritation, panic or haughtiness. He was looking, really looking at the people with the expression of One getting down to business, heartfelt business.

Without another thought I joined the throng. They wouldn’t notice me. I had the strangest inclination to draw near, to touch His garment. Would He notice me?

I reach out. There, done. It seems like some strange accomplishment. But look, he stops; He is turning around…